The Werewolf, the Spark, and the Closet
by Anderida
Summary: "As of this evening, you are officially my favourite 'weird' friend!" Sterek, duh, but nothing graphic. Set at the end of Season 2 after Jackson's reincarnation.


**The Werewolf, the Spark, and the Closet**

 _ **A/N:** The age of consent is lower here in the UK, lower still in RL. But here US rules apply. I don't condone breaking the law and RL age gaps can reek of power imbalance. But this is fiction, one character is emotionally older than his years; the other younger, methinks, and a supernatural creature too boot. _

_Oh, I don't own TW. (You probably knew that already. If I did I wouldn't have time to write fanfic!)_

* * *

 **The Werewolf, the Spark, and the Closet**

Derek had tracked him down, although he wasn't completely sure why he had.

With all the crap of the last… What? 24 hours, 24 days? 24 years? With all of _that_ , Derek didn't know which way was up any more. Yeah, they'd kind of defeated Gerard, and Jackson was alive, at least for now. But Derek didn't feel relieved at all.

He felt betrayed. Again. And he felt strangely distraught.

The betrayal he understood; was almost inured to it by now. And the betrayal this time had been, he hoped, for all the right reasons; had been due to a teenager's lack of trust which, given the circumstances, was probably explainable. Maybe even, forgivable. In time.

His distress was more difficult to pin down. When he tried to sift through his memories for the reason he felt it so strongly, he saw only the bleak look on Stiles' face as the teen had walked away from the warehouse, leaving his precious Jeep busted up and immobile, leaving his relationship with his best friend fractured and inert, and leaving the love of his life, Lydia Martin, in the arms of the love of _her_ life, Jackson Whittemore, the not-so-inert ex-kanima.

Her love had saved Jackson; had bought him back from the oblivion of death. And Stiles had witnessed that. Had understood it.

Derek knew how that felt, although he tried not to revisit old memories of the moment he had first realised that Kate had never loved him. All these years later and it still had the power to hurt him like a thousand cuts.

He shook his head, as if to jostle the images that were playing in his brain into some prettier pattern, and realised that he was no longer surprised that he found himself standing in the shadows of the Stilinski yard.

He knew he needed to thank the boy who had, once again, come rushing to the aid of his friends without any regard for his own safety. Or perhaps he needed to berate the kid for doing just that. Yell at him for being so stupid as to jeopardise his life by putting his frail – and by that Derek meant 'human' because he didn't regard the boy as weak in any way – self in defence of others who were better able to protect themselves.

Without consciously meaning to, Derek found that he had leapt on to the Stilinski roof and was easing up the window to Stiles' bedroom. 'Habit', Derek rationalised, although it had been many months since he had needed to hide out here.

As he slid himself over the sill and into the room, he was momentarily confused. Scanning the room he saw no-one, yet Stiles was there; his werewolf senses were certain. He concentrated his hearing, pinpointing heartbeats from inside the closet, just as he noticed a thin line of pale light underscoring its door.

Approaching the closet, he was startled to hear Stiles call out, "Go away, Scott. I'm not in the mood to deal with your crap."

How had Stiles heard him? The idea that he wasn't as stealthy as he had thought was both worrying and intriguing.

He opened the door.

Stiles was sitting at the far end of the dimly-lit walk-in, with his back to the wall, knees bent up, arms hugging his legs. His eyes darted up to look at the intruder, red-rimmed and narrowed, face pinched. On seeing Derek, the eyes went wide and Stiles' mouth dropped open.

"You're not Scott," he stated.

"No. A fact that I give thanks for every day," Derek replied, biting the inside of his cheek to derail a smirk that, given the kid's obvious unhappiness, was hardly appropriate. "How did you know someone was in your room?"

Stiles disengaged a hand from where it had been clasped around his leg and pointed at a piece of cotton thread lying on the floor. It looked like any other loose strand that had unravelled from a garment, except it crossed the entire length of the closet and then disappeared under the door to reappear in the bedroom.

"The other end is thumb-tacked to the window frame. Sort of early-warning system for rude creatures of the night that haven't learnt their manners or how to use a door yet."

The boy's words were acerbic but his tone was without any heat. He sounded resigned. Defeated.

"I'm sorry," Derek said, not quite knowing exactly what he was sorry about. He wasn't sorry that he'd climbed through the window, because he realised that Stiles would not have answered the door had he succumbed to convention.

"Why? Why are you sorry?"

Derek lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the door frame, studying the pattern on a single discarded sock in front of him.

"I don't know," he said after a moment to collect his thoughts. "I think that you need someone to tell you they're sorry. And I am sorry. Sorry you got mixed up in this. Sorry you got hurt. Sorry I don't know how to make things better for you."

"None of that is your fault so I don't know why you would feel sorry for me," Stiles said, his eyes narrowing again before he focused his attention on his right sneaker. "This is all down to me. My inability to pick friends who trust me enough to tell me what they're planning. My inability to pick a girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever, who actually even _likes_ me. My inability to make the right choice when offered the bite, so I could have superpowers like practically everyone else I know. My inability t-"

"Wait, what?" Derek was staring at Stiles now, hardly comprehending what he'd heard. "What choice? You were offered the bite? By whom?"

"You didn't know?" the teen glanced up quickly, brows raised in surprise. "Peter offered. I said 'no'; he didn't believe me. I wish I'd said 'yes' now," Stiles told his sneaker.

"No!" Derek felt knocked sideways by this revelation. "Never from Peter! Never! Promise me."

"Dunno what it's got to do with you exactly, but, yeah, I'm not anxious to join your creepy uncle in his madness. Um, no offense. It's just that having werewolf powers would be awesome right about now. If I'd just said 'yes', I could actually help my friends and perhaps they'd trust me enough to share their plans and-"

"No, Stiles. You're wrong. You help your friends plenty already. You don't have to be a werewolf to do that. You helped them tonight. Saved them.

"And Scott will still be a fool, whether you're a werewolf or not. This is about him; not you. Maybe he was trying to protect you. Maybe he just didn't think. But if he really didn't trust you then it's his failing, not yours. He _should_ trust you."

"Um, thanks, I guess. Does that mean _you_ trust me?"

"I'm not sure I trust anyone, or if I ever will again," Derek pushed a hand through his hair, his eyes returning to the solitary sock, "but if I do trust, if I _can_ trust, it would be you, Stiles."

"Oh. Thanks? And, just so you know, I trust you, and it's okay if you can't trust me back because, well, I can understand that trusting people is difficult for you after… after everything. I think I understand that a little better now."

"I'm sorry Scott is such an idiot." Derek wanted to say more, say something that would take away the sorrow he felt enveloping the boy like a convective cloud front rolling ashore. But he had never been any good at saying the right thing.

Laura had once told him that they both had had their emotional development cut off at the age that they were when the fire stole their family, their home and their innocence. Derek had never felt that to be truer than at this moment. He felt as though _he_ were the teenager in this closet. He let the silence talk for him because it was so much more eloquent than he felt he might be.

"Derek?" Stiles broke the silence with his quiet question. "Why are you here?"

"Honestly? Not really sure." Derek shifted against the doorframe, repositioning himself until he was facing Stiles squarely. "I felt … sad. Sad about Scott. Sad about Lydia."

"You were sad? For me?"

Derek didn't miss the disbelief in Stiles' voice, nor the shame.

"Yes," he answered truthfully, "but not only that. I just felt sad. Me, _I_ was sad. I couldn't shake the feeling. After everything that's happened … I ought to feel better than this. But instead I feel … I don't know…"

"So you came here because …?"

"I guess, uh," Derek paused briefly as he tried to grasp his motivation and order his thoughts into words. "I guess, I came to thank you. Someone should. I doubt Scott will realise he ought to thank you – or that he owes you an apology. The Argents ought to thank you, but hell will freeze over before they do the right thing. The Whittemores will never know how much they owe you, so you can pretty much rule out a 'thank you' from them. The Martin girl is probably genetically incapable of saying the words, so don't hold your breath waiting for her." Derek flinched at his own poor choice of words. "So I guess that just leaves me, and I'm a poor substitute, I know. But on behalf of all of those you've saved, tonight and on all the other occasions: Thank you."

Derek smiled, even if he felt saddened that he couldn't drag each and every one of those ingrates to thank Stiles in person. On their knees.

"Um, wow. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. You talk plenty as it is. I know I can't make things better for you, but-"

"No. No, you just did. Thanks for what you said. I know you don't 'do' feelings and that must have been difficult, and I'm not sure why you said that but, yeah, um, thanks. It helped."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But … well, why? Why you?" Stiles looked up then, his curiosity making him bolder perhaps. "You could have done that alpha 'roar-y' thing you do and made Scott come and try salvage our friendship. Not that I don't appreciate you making the effort – because I do, really – but it didn't _have_ to be you."

"It did. It did have to be me. I needed to thank you too. And it felt wrong after Gerard. After Jackson. _I_ felt wrong. I don't feel so wrong now."

"Oh."

"I can still get Scott to come apologise to you. If you want?"

Stiles shook his head slowly, his disappointment palpable to the werewolf.

"No. He needs to do that without any prompting or roaring. Don't think he will. He won't see what a huge slap in the face it is that he didn't think to include me in his plan. He probably doesn't even realise that I'm upset with him.

"I'll forgive him, of course. Like I do every time he ditches me to go play 'kissy-face' with Allison. I know he's not the smartest bear in Yellowstone, but it still hurts. Um, thanks for the offer though."

"If you change your mind…"

"You'll be the first wolf I contact to do my roaring for me, being as I can't roar at anyone myself, 'cause, you know," he waved a hand at his chest, "still not a werewolf here."

Stiles gave a lopsided grin and Derek found himself staring, considering something.

"Stiles? Do you really want to become a werewolf? Truthfully?"

"You're looking at me funny," Stiles said as he slid his legs down to the floor, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you offering? To give me the bite?"

"If you wanted it. _Really_ wanted it. No doubts. Then… yes, I would."

"Wow, um, okay, that's um, unexpected."

"It's not something to enter into lightly. There are risks. But I know you know that. You probably know more about the dangers than most werewolves. So, if you said 'yes', if it was what you genuinely wanted, I would bite you. But I hope you won't. You don't need to be a werewolf. You're perf- perfectly okay as you are."

Stiles unfolded his arms and placed his hands flat on the floor either side of him.

"Thank you. I know what you're offering is a big thing. For you, I mean. It's one thing to take a chance with someone you don't know. Someone who was having a pretty shitty life anyway. But this, well, it could go horribly wrong, um, for you. And me, I guess, but, yeah… thanks. 'Preciate the offer. But I'm actually happy being human. Most of the time.

"Besides, you need a human to help you mutts out with mountain ash barriers and, well, to train you how to be nice and socialise with others.

"And if the bite didn't take? Well, I wouldn't wish that on you or anyone. And my dad would be really alone and he'd start drinking again and… Well, yeah, so my answer is 'no'. But thank you, anyway."

"I'm glad. I think that's the right decision. But, if you ever had a change of heart…"

"I'd come find you, big guy. Don't worry, I wouldn't trust anyone else to give me the bite. Or roar at thoughtless friends for me. Only you. You should know that by now."

Derek nodded, a small smile forming, as his wolf preened.

"You're pleased I said that, aren't you?" Stiles asked, sounding amused. "You just made a dorky, self-satisfied face that makes you look even more smug than usual."

"Dorky?" Derek queried, still smiling.

"You know it! Like you're crazy and super-pleased with yourself."

"Because you said you trusted me to give you the bite. That's pretty big for a werewolf."

"It's pretty big for me too. I used to think that if Scott was an alpha, I'd ask him to bite me. You know, if I ever decided to join him in his hairiness and howling. But recently… well, he could be a sparkly, alpha werewolf-unicorn hybrid, shooting rainbows out of his butt, and I still wouldn't ask him."

"Don't think were-unicorns are an actual thing. And if they were, I don't see Scott as one, rainbows or not," Derek told him.

"Nah, you're probably right. Although I rule out nothing these days. Beacon Hills seems to attract weird shit."

"Like werewolves? Are we 'weird shit'?" Derek asked, his smile dropping as he was reminded of just how different he was to other people; different to Stiles.

He suddenly felt like an outsider again, like the feeling he'd had on his return to his home town. The way he hadn't felt, strangely enough, since just after two trespassing teenagers had entered his life.

"Yep," Stiles replied, but he was grinning. "Yep, werewolves qualify. But they're 'good' weird shit … in general anyway, not including rogue Omega's, or Peter – but then he's a whole category of 'weird' all by himself. And sometimes even the good ones can be pretty shitty friends but … yeah, good 'weird' on the whole."

"You had me worried," was all Derek could think to say, because, well, he had been worried.

"As of this evening, you are officially my favourite 'weird' friend!" Long fingers gestured bunny's ears.

"Thanks. I think." At the teen's expectant expression, Derek continued quickly, "And you're my official favourite _non_ -weird friend."

The smile that Stiles gifted him just then took his breath away. Derek felt his own face slip into a goofy grin too. He'd just called someone – Stiles – a friend. He didn't know what to make of that. But he did know that he no longer felt the crushing sadness that had drawn him here; no longer felt the earlier betrayal so keenly.

What Derek did feel was the need to keep the smile – on Stiles' face and on his own. He didn't want to understand why he felt like that. It was enough that he did. Smiling was a good thing. It should be encouraged. No questions. Just smile.

"Besides," he said, trying to keep the conversation going, "being weird isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, you get the teeth, and the claws, the super-powers, and the fur, but then there's the hunters and the whole, 'I can't make the movies tonight: it's the full moon' drama. And humans don't wake up in the woods, naked with their remaining clothes in tatters around them."

"Seriously? That happens? I mean, don't you, um, like have a change of clothing hidden in a tree trunk or something?"

Derek laughed then. It felt good. "You've been watching too much TV. No, it's not usually a problem. You control how much you shift and when you shift. A few ripped shirts when hunters jump out and you need to run for your life suddenly, but otherwise you're in control. You have time to prepare.

"But for adolescent or newly-bitten wolves who are just getting used to their full powers, it can be a nightmare. Not the nudity; we don't get hung up on that. So the waking up naked part isn't really an issue for us, assuming you're in the woods and there are no hikers stumbling over you – that happened to me once. It's more the embarrassment of not being able to control your shift.

"Learning how to shift is painful and draining. Some never fully master it and can still be a danger on the full moon. Others manage fine, but then something happens, like stress or some supernatural illness, and they lose some of their usual restraint. So, yeah, being a werewolf has its downside."

"Wow! Wait! Hikers found you naked in the woods?"

"I share important details about werewolf physiology and you pick up on 'naked'?"

"Um, still a teenager here! A naked you is an image um, yeah, so anyway... So, um, the hikers, huh? What happened? Did they report you to the Rangers Service for lewd behaviour? Oh, oh, do you have a police record – I mean other than for murder, of which you were totally exonerated, of course, – but did you get arrested for - "

"Stiles! Whoa!" Derek suppressed a laugh, which came out as a snort. His conscious brain ignored part of Stiles' rambling to focus on finishing his story. "No, not arrested. The hikers thought I'd been in an accident, or assaulted or something, and wanted to call the police. I told them my friends had played a prank on me and I was going to creep back to our camp and steal all _their_ clothes. Laura gave me hell when I got home, but mom and dad just laughed and laughed."

Derek stopped talking. The memory was a fond one, even if thoughts of his family were tinged with sadness.

"Hey, Derek, it's okay. I'm sorry I made you think of your family."

How like Stiles to understand exactly what the problem was. To understand grief, but also to understand him, Derek realised.

"No, it's okay to think of them. It's good. Uh, you know, my family would have liked you, Stiles. My mom would have agreed to give you the bite. If you'd really wanted it. She'd have tried to talk you out of it, though, because she would have liked you just as you are."

"Your mom sounds like a nice person, a good person. I wish I could have met her; met all your family. Maybe even Peter back then. And you know, my mom would have made you her Latvian pastries. That's high praise because she wouldn't bake for just anyone."

"I would have liked that," Derek said quietly. Then, before his thoughts could overwhelm him, he said, "Hey, you should get some sleep now."

"Yeah, I guess," Stiles replied, but gave no indication of moving.

"You gonna get up?" Derek asked as he stood up himself and offered his hand.

"Nah, gonna sleep here."

At Derek's raised eyebrow, Stiles continued, "I do that sometimes: sleep in here. When, you know, when I feel, um, stressed, I guess. Haven't needed to for a while but…"

Stiles shrugged. He pulled his grey sweat-top over his head, revealing a pale blue tee underneath. Derek noticed a slither of pale skin just above his waistband as Stiles unbuckled his belt and began to pull it through the loops of his jeans. The top and belt were thrown onto an adjacent pile of school folders before Stiles pushed that pile and another of obviously repurposed shoe boxes further back against the closet wall to make more space.

"Could you, um, get my sleeping bag down from the top shelf just there, please?" he asked, pointing to a spot just above the alpha's head, as he toed off his sneakers. There was an uncertainty in Stiles' voice that made Derek curious.

Derek turned around and saw what looked like two rolled up comforters on the shelf above the hanging rail. He handed the light blue one down to Stiles, who thanked him quietly.

Derek gave a single nod then pulled the cord by the door to switch off the light, exiting the closet and pulling the door almost shut behind him.

He crossed to the boy's bed and grabbed up a pillow, hearing Stiles grumble under his breath, "G'Night to you too, Sourwolf!"

As he pushed open the closet door again, Stiles said, "I thought you'd gone." It sounded like a petulant accusation.

But he also heard what Stiles had not said, that he didn't want to be alone after everything that had happened to him these last few days. That was something Derek, the archetypal loner, could understand surprisingly easily.

"Just getting a pillow. Here."

Stiles took the pillow Derek had thrust at him and stuffed it behind him as he struggled with unrolling the sleeping bag. With the door not quite closed, the closet was still light enough for the alpha to see clearly but he realised that Stiles would only be able to make out vague shapes in the darkness.

"Let me," he offered, crouching and reaching for the zip on the side of the sleeping bag. For a split second their fingers touched and Derek felt Stiles jerk his hand away. He wondered at that. He thought they were friends now. He refocused on undoing the zip.

"Here's the bag. You can slide in now. Sleep well."

He started to move, to stand up, when long warm fingers curled around his wrist.

"Stay?" Stiles voice was barely above a whisper but Derek heard his fear, his embarrassment. And something else he couldn't quite place.

"Sure," he said, oddly pleased that he wasn't being dismissed.

"Take the other sleeping bag." Now Stiles voice had the boldness of a command and it made Derek smile as he reached for the shelf again.

By the time he was kneeling down with the other bag, Stiles had opened out his one and spread it out like a picnic rug.

"Um, the navy one can go on top," Stiles said, adding quickly, "If that's alright? Or we can have one each, that's fine too, just, what with all that werewolf heat it might be uncomfortable for you zipped into a sleeping bag, so I thought -"

"Stiles! It's okay. This one can go on top. Lay down."

He watched as Stiles shuffled down until he was lying along the left-hand edge of the opened sleeping bag, pulling a corner of the pillow under his head.

Derek unzipped and unfurled the second bag over the prone form. He removed his own belt, shoes and jacket, then pulled his tee off too. He was about to slip under the other side of the makeshift bed when Stiles spoke again.

"Pillow. You should get another off my bed. Or, you know, we could just share?"

Derek grinned. "Mind if I share? I'm too sleepy to go back out there," he said, knowing Stiles couldn't hear the lie.

He knew he'd said the right thing when Stiles smiled back into the darkness, and Derek saw the lines on his forehead ease away.

"Fine, but no snoring."

Although he didn't need the warmth it provided, Derek crawled under the quilted cover, laying down facing Stiles, who was on his back, staring blindly at the closet ceiling.

"You okay, Stiles?" he asked, watching the boy's face closely.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am now. Thanks. Um, sorry if, well, sorry if you feel you have to stay. You know, like you're on some sort of babysitting duty or something. I don't mean to be so, um, needy, I guess. It's just, well, with everything that's happened- "

"Stiles, I get it. It's okay. You've had a rough time. We all have. Sometimes you don't want to be on your own. I get that, more than you probably realise. I know your dad is having to do extra shifts to fill in for … uh, all the vacancies at the station. I get it. I want to be here, Stiles. I wouldn't stay if not."

"Thanks. Not being on my own makes me feel better."

"Me too." Derek was puzzled by his own honesty. "Now, get some sleep."

There was a moment of silence and then Stiles asked, "Why are you being nice to me?"

The question took Derek by surprise. "I'm not sure what to say to that. I like you." Again with the honesty. Derek went with it. "We've both been through a lot in a short time. I guess I don't want to be alone just now, either. This feels, uh, comfortable..."

"Comfortable? My closet floor?"

"With you, yeah."

"Oh."

Derek could see the lines begin to mar Stiles brow again so, without thinking, he reached over and gently tried to smooth them out. He slid his fingers across his friend's brow, then down the side of his face to stop under his chin, guiding Stile's head round until he was looking towards him.

Stiles' eyes were wide, pupils full and dark.

"Stiles," Derek heard the name slip from his lips, as Stiles turned onto his side to fully face him.

"Stiles," he said again as something burned in his gut and his wolf trembled.

Then fingers were raking through his hair and Derek thought he was flying. Lips pressed against his. He parted his own on instinct, giving Stiles access to so much more than just his mouth, as he lost every ounce of ballast keeping him on the ground.

Too soon, he broke the kiss.

"Stiles, do you want this? You don't have to… I'll stay here, with you. Just to sleep, if that's all you want."

"Does it seem to you that that's all I want?"

Derek had expected Stiles to be unsure, shy, coy maybe, but his tone was assured, a little pissed off even.

He was looking down at him with an expression that Derek could only call lustful, and the hand he had placed on Derek's bare chest spoke of invitation not rebuke.

"I want you to be sure. This is so new- "

"Not to me. How can you have all those wolfy super-senses and not pick up on my feelings for you?"

"You learn to block out hormones when you're surrounded by teenagers. But, you and Lydia were …"

"Habit and deflection, my friend. Danny is the only openly gay guy in school. Kids can be cruel so it's no surprise no-one else has risked coming out. Danny thinks he's accepted because he's a nice guy. He is. A nice guy, I mean. The best. But the only reason he doesn't get trolled is because his best friend is Jackson, rich jock and all-round dick.

"I preferred to have my sexual identity crisis outside of the glare of the school spotlight, thank you very much. Even after I worked out I was bi, it seemed prudent to keep that titbit of locker-room gossip to myself.

"And, I really do love Lydia. But as a friend. I just wished she actually noticed me. As a friend. And I think she deserves better than douche-bag Jackson."

"Jackson's an idiot. But Lydia can't help who she loves. And perhaps she doesn't want to get your hopes up when you don't have a chance with her. You haven't been subtle in your, uh, regard for her."

"Wow, Derek, that's deep," Stiles smiled broadly, "and, I suspect, frighteningly accurate. I knew there was a reason I lov- I liked you. I think you see far more than you let on. Except, of course, about me liking you, because that went straight over your wolfy little head with its cute furry ears, and-"

"Cute? My ears are cute?" Derek had been aiming for an offended tone, but even he could hear the fondness in his voice.

"Is there a part of you that isn't cute?" Stiles dipped and planted a kiss on the end of Derek's nose, a little off-centre in the darkness. "Because if there is, then I think I should be told. Full disclosure! Which part of you has failed the cuteness test? C'mon, Derek, spill!"

"With something so important, could you trust me not to lie? Perhaps you should find out for yourself?"

"Research! Always _up_ for a little research!"

And Derek would have wondered how it was possible that he hadn't imploded at that, but for the mouth that closed over his again. After that he was able to do very little intellectualising.

SDSDSDSD

As he lay in Stiles arms much later, sticky, sated and smug, he did have time to think about what had happened. He knew he was happy, a feeling he hadn't realised how much he had missed until now.

Whatever this was between him and Stiles, it was serious and long-term. For both of them, judging by the whispered promises Stiles had made before he had fallen asleep. Promises that rang true to the werewolf's ears. (His 'cute' ears, Derek remembered, smiling to himself.)

Derek knew their relationship wouldn't be without its issues. He didn't even have to think to come up with a number of potential problems: their age difference; Scott's reaction; the Sheriff's reaction; the whole werewolf issue; Stiles' schooling and then going away to college; his own alpha duties; oh, and the fact that he had just broken the law (probably wise to keep the physical side of their relationship quiet for the next two and a half months, he determined).

But whatever the problems they had to face, they would be together.

And Derek knew something that Stiles didn't: Derek's wolf had chosen Stiles. Stiles was his. He baulked at using the cliché of 'mate', but it was apt.

And he also knew that Stiles was a Spark, with latent supernatural powers of his own. He had suspected it since the night Stiles had trapped the kanima in the nightclub. Then Deaton had as good as confirmed it to him. Derek hoped that once his abilities were realised, Stiles wouldn't ever want to become a werewolf. And it might also help to smooth some of the crinkles in the path of their life together.

Derek closed his eyes, letting Stiles' heartbeats and gentle breathing lull him towards sleep. He felt secure and content for the first time since before the fire.

Stiles was heat and desire, but he was also warmth and comfort. He was adventure, and he was safety. He was exciting new lands to be explored. And he was home for a lost werewolf.

Derek had found a whole new world in the back of a closet.


End file.
